Addiction Level: Violent
by ShadowSilverWolves
Summary: England has a trick up his sleeve for Wales, Scotland, and Ireland. What could it possibly be? When it comes to England, it could be related to unicorns, for all they know. Gift for Luna FireFox. Oneshot. (Summary does NOT suck.)


**I do not own Hetalia.**

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England rarely ever called a meeting between his brothers. And in this case, 'rarely ever' means never. It was well-known among those who acquainted themselves with England that he did not get along with Wales, Scotland and Ireland. At least, it was obvious to those he were born with the ability to read the atmosphere. Those without it, America and Italy to be specific, were simply, well, oblivious to that fact.

So it was with great suspicion that the three brothers of Britain took their seats in England's neat little office, although 'little' would be the wrong adjective to describe the Englishman's place of work. The room had a dark brown paint job on the walls that gave it a warm, homey feel, with several mirrors hanging on a few walls to make the office seem bigger than it actually was. His large oak desk, positioned in front of the window located directly across from the entryway, had neat stacks of paper on top of it, a set of ink pens lined up in between the piles. Three comfy leather chairs were set in a semi-circle facing the desk.

England himself was standing in front of his desk, leaning back against it with his arms crossed as he watched his brothers enter the room. A smug look tainted his emerald eyes, causing him to appear a bit... malicious. It was not a look that any of his companions ever acquainted with something good. When the three siblings stood in a row in front of the door, England made a point of studying his nails. He motioned to the chairs before him in a rather bored gesture, simply flicking his hands once to do so.

"Have a seat, gentlemen."

Scotland sat down in the chair farthest to the left, eyeing his brother suspiciously, not liking the overall manner in which the Brit was carrying himself in the presence of his brothers. His ever-present cigar hung oit of his mouth as he assumed the same attitude as England, keeping his suspicions down as he crossed one leg over the other and placed his chin in his hands.

Wales sat in the middle seat with Ireland in the right, neither of them showing any interest or suspicion in what was happening, unlike Scotland. The three sat still, staring at England as he sat on the edge of his desk. England glanced up at his siblings and smiled, but it was not a happy smile. It was a rather... evil smile, if they were to label it. Truth be told, this worried them all in the slightest, but they did not show it.

"I suppose," England began, being more dramatic than the situation demanded for the sole sake of annoying the three before him, "you are wondering why I brought you all here, this evening."

"Not particularly," Wales monotoned.

"And it's not evening," Ireland pointing to the window behind England, revealing that the sun sat in the sky in a position that revealed it to be late afternoon.

Flustered by these criticisms from his siblings, criticisms that it seemed he was constantly receiving no matter what he did, England almost let his normal attitude take over and yell in their faces. At the last minute, he pulled himself under control and relaxed his face, dropping the sneer that had begun to form. He took a deep breath and started again.

"Well, its simple, really." England walked around the desk to the front and opened a drawer. He pulled out three phones and lifted them up.

When he got no reaction from the three stone statues, he huffed and shut the drawer with a slam.

"You're supposed to ask what these are for," he told them in irritation.

With a matching tone of annoyance, Scotland let out a sigh. "What are those for?"

England gave them the most evil smile they had seen in a while. "I'm glad you asked!"

With one flick of his arm, England tossed the three phones across the room and one landed in the laps of each personification.

"Turn them on!"

He waited a few moments as the phones were brought to life. When he was certain that all was ready, he grinned.

"Now press 'begin'."

"What is this, England?" Wales asked, waving the phone in his brother's direction.

"Just press the button!" England demanded, invisible steam shooting from his ears, his face scrunched up in annoyance.

Scotland rolled his eyes, but hit the button he was ordered to press. Colorful shapes flashed across the screen and Scotland wondered if this... whatever it was... had been made while the Brit was in one of his more strange moods, meaning he was drunk. With a resigned sigh, Scotland watched the screen before him.

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"Great Scot, how are you at level thirteen already?"

"Please, I've got the skill!"

"I need a hammer! A hammer, you wanker!"

England was nearly on the floor laughing with glee at the state his brothers were in after just an hour. His plan had worked perfectly! Better than he had imagined! The addiction levels for this game were said to be high, but this was hilarious! He loved it.

Scotland was not being his usual composed self as he sat sideways in his chair, one leg hooked over the leather arm as he hissed profanities at the phone. His cigar had fallen out of his mouth and lay on the floor under the chair. Wales looked as though he would explode and destroy the device in his hand. It almost worried England, because it looked as though Ireland would burst into tears any second now. Almost worried him.

"Damn it, England! How many levels are there!?" Scotland hissed, glaring at his brother.

England put a finger to his lips and wiggled with each word. "I'll never te-e-e-ell~!" It was a thoroughly disturbing display, but for once, the three nations did not comment on their brother's odd behavior. Instead, they focused back on their game with a low growl, more profanity, and a whimper.

England burst into hysterical laughter once more as his brothers found themselves caught up in the infamous Candy Crush Saga. He would, of course, never tell them that the game originated because of the time when Alfred still lived with him and had insisted on smashing his candy into powder and adding it to his milk with the intention of making Candy Milk. Nor would he tell them that the game was made with Alfred in mind. The boy would get so excited over candy and was already addicted to the game.

This game was evil. Pure evil. And so was he. England laughed once more before sneaking out of the room, leaving his brothers shouting at their phones.

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**Author's Note**

**A gift to 100th reviewer! Luna FireFox! I hope you liked it! I had this idea stuck in my head and just had to do it! Hope ya liked it!**

**Remember, you were unique before it was cool!**

**Until next time,**

**-Silver**


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